Date: Tue, 18 May 2010 04:04:19 -0700 (PDT)
From: K.D. Ohrdanski <offwitherhead83@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Pavlovian Games - Chapter 2

The usual disclaimers apply: for adult readers only. Contains graphic
depictions of sexual activity between men, some of whom are related.


CHAPTER 2 - THE CHOSEN ONE

***
	I looked down at the packet in front of me. A wave of disgust gave me
goosebumps as I stared at my signature. My name was on a document that went
against anything I stood for, that went against everything millions of people
had fought for, and that was, for all intents and purposes, illegal. In a
court of law outside of Larson, this document was a joke.

	Unfortunately, I wasn't in a position to debate the legality of the
contract. With my family's wellbeing dependant on my compliance, I was forced
to play this game. I couldn't call anyone outside of Larson; no one would
believe me, and I ran the risk of getting someone hurt. I would have been in
awe of such a well-thought plan if I weren't the victim of it.

	My brother and I had developed some great schemes when we were kids, and
so the thought of us plotting against the LGC quickly manifested itself in my
mind. The thought was a fleeting one, though: he had been in this predicament
for months now, and not only did he not tell me about it, he was sitting at
the table in front of me without any sort of rebellion. In his head, there was
no way to escape this situation, and even if he were just waiting for me to
return home, the idea of us working together to overthrow the LGC didn't seem
feasible.

	I shook these thoughts from my head and realized that my first focus
needed to be on my unconscious best friend. I knelt down and put my ear to his
face. He was still breathing, even if it was faint.

	"Are you going to do anything about him?" I asked. I didn't know if he
wanted me to call him Sir or Massa or Mr. Carpenter, but I figured I'd get the
whole run down later. This was a matter of urgency, and Brandon's death would
be on his hands if nothing was done.

	John nodded as he pulled out a cell phone from his pocket. He wasn't
shaken by the situation as if he knew Brandon was going to survive. In fact,
nothing that had happened today made John even flinch, and instantly, I became
a bit more intimidated by his demeanor.

	As John talked, I stepped over Brandon's body and walked over to the
table. The idea of seeing four men, humbled and defeated, sitting naked in
obedience was a very awe-inspiring sight. Not one showed any sort of
resistance. I couldn't see any of their faces, but not one of them showed any
visible tension. I knew they weren't okay with their predicament, but their
body language read as if this wasn't their first demoralizing rodeo.

	"The EMTs will be here in a few minutes," John said, putting his phone
away. His booming voice immediately grabbed my attention. He had a warm smile
on his face as if he were some hero. The fact that he shocked Brandon
unconscious was repulsive enough, but the idea that his tone of voice
insinuated I should be appreciative of his follow-up made my stomach wrench.

	"Why are you doing this?" I asked, unconcerned with how inappropriate
the question might seem to him.

	John's smile never faded. Slowly, but dripping with confidence, he
walked toward me. Never before had his size intimidated me, but for some
reason, I took a small step back, unsure of what he had in mind. He stood
beside me at the table, but instead of giving me his attention, he pulled a
key out. He whistled to himself as he unlocked each set of the handcuffs and
ankle cuffs to all four of the men at the table. He handed me the cuffs as he
went from person to person, and after he was done, he took them back and
placed them in a box near the microwave.

	Even though they were no longer restrained, none of the slaves moved.
Each one of them kept the very stiff position he had just been in. Not one of
them flinched when being freed. I couldn't help but be frightened by the
ordeal: what training tools had the LGC used to get these men to be as
obedient as they were?

	John had moved to the large open area in the kitchen, and using his
index finger, beckoned me to join him. I stood next to him, and he draped his
arm around my shoulder. I thought about pushing my former role model's arm
away, but he then pulled me in closer. He didn't look at me, but I could still
tell that he had a weird level of respect for me.

	It was at that point that I realized that I needed to start embrace
these extreme changes. This wasn't a dream, and the sooner I realized that,
the sooner I could start making better decisions in regards to the
enslavement. Did John see me as different from my brother, my dad, Brandon's
dad and Brandon's uncle? Was there a soft spot in there for me? I didn't know
for sure, but if there was, I needed to ride it as long as I could.

	"Don't be afraid, Kevin," he whispered into my ear. I didn't look him in
the face, even though doing so would have acknowledged my eventual consent. He
was so happy at what had happened, and although I wanted to stay on his good
side, there was no way I could condone what was going on.

	"I'm not," I lied. I said it with enough conviction, though, that I
almost forced myself to believe it. Before Brandon's insubordination, no one
had been significantly harmed. If this was my new inescapable reality, I was
going to accept it as wholeheartedly as I could.

	Suddenly, John's smile faded and he became very stern. He took his hand
from around my shoulder and clapped three times. Each clap was separated by
two seconds of brief silence. It was apparent to me that this was a command,
and once I turned my attention from him to the table, I quickly learned that
my assumption was correct.

	After the noise of the third clap had diminished, all four men stood up.
As they stood, they placed their hands at their sides. They stood there,
completely naked but with no evident shame in their posture. Four upright men
stood in front of me and John, waiting for another command.

	I looked at John, wondering what he had planned next. He caught my
glance and draped his arm back over me. That goofy smile came back. I rolled
my eyes without thinking, and he laughed out loud. It was a bellowing laugh,
and it was so sincere that I actually smiled myself. In fact, I chuckled, not
nearly as loud as he was, but loud enough for him to hear it in the midst of
his. I cut it short, though, realizing I didn't want my family and Brandon's
family to hear me. I didn't support this at all, and I didn't want them to
have any inclination that I did.

	With his arm still draped around me, he whispered into my ear again.
"You're going to be my personal slave."

	I gulped. What did that mean? Was that good or bad? John was obviously
the ringleader, so did that put me at an advantage to win this "game", or did
it mean that I was going to be pushed harder, which, if I couldn't keep up,
I'd fail. The answers, I assumed, would come soon enough.

	"Attention!" John exclaimed. This order might not have caught the four
other conscious slaves in the room off guard, but it startled me. In fact, the
booming of his voice made me lose my balance and trip to the ground.

	In unison, the four slaves at the table stopped facing one another and
faced John and me. Their feet and ankles came together as if they were in the
army. Turning his attention back to the four slaves in front of us, his smile
faded again. "Single file!"

	This was the loudest he had been. Why he couldn't have said it in a
normal voice was beyond me. Other than the creaking floors, the house was
absolutely silent. They were standing only yards away from us, so they could
hear everything that was going on. This, of course, made me wonder if they had
heard me chuckle, but then I realized that John's booming laugh would have
rendered mine inaudible.

	Dad, Ray, Henry, and Kris started to move, but with the hoods covering
their faces, it was anything but graceful. At best, it was embarrassing and at
worst, they looked like buffoons. Kris made the move to the line quickly
without much problem. One of the other two unidentified men, who I assumed was
my dad by his posture, banged his knee against the table's top somehow. He
walked around the table and was able to bump into Kris, which gave him enough
wherewithals to position himself next to his son. Ray and Henry were
completely lost, so John, who seemed to be in good spirits, dashed over to the
two blinded men and help position them on either side of my family.

	I looked at the line of men in front of me with curiosity. How long had
it taken for them to get this way? My dad, who had complained about his
developing beer gut for years (yet did nothing to limit its expansion) was
ripped. But how many shocks and other forms of punishment had it taken for him
to get to the point where standing naked in front of both of his boys was just
another thing to do? How long had it taken for Ray to be able to completely
ignore the fact that his son was almost killed? How long had it taken for
Henry, who had been a militant black supremacist, to accept this reality?

	Regardless of how long it took, here they were.

	John looked at me, and I caught his glance. "Are you ready for a show,
Kevin?" I nodded my head in confirmation; what good would it have done to do
or say otherwise?

	John nodded and turned his attention to the slaves in front of him. He
subtly, and somewhat unconsciously, stuck out his chest as if it was
synonymous with authority.

	"Apes," he said loudly in a pitch lower than he had ever said, "today is
a great day for all of us. Six and Seven have finally come home, and as we
agreed, Five will be released next week. Your family is now complete, and the
game can now begin."

	As John spoke, he ran his hand through my hair without looking at me. I
felt like I was his mistress. He and I still remained clothed, and to some
degree, I still had my dignity intact. But as he addressed the slaves in front
of us, I felt like there was a significant dichotomy between me and what he
now called "my family."

	"Unfortunately," John continued, "only one ape can win its freedom, and
tonight marks the first elimination. Although you have participated in this
game as diligently as you can, some of you have resisted the transformation
better than others."

	For the first time, one of the four slaves showed a little bit of life.
My guess is that Brandon's dad had been the hardest of the four to train, and
out of fear, Ray flinched. John caught this lapse, and using the same personal
device he had used to nearly kill Brandon, he shocked Ray. Although it wasn't
nearly as long as the one that had been used to Brandon, Ray's body trembled
and he eventually dropped to his knees.

	"You disappoint me, Two," John said, shaking his head. "A slave is
cheerful and without fear. You know this. You accepted this fate willingly.
Now stand up and join your brothers."

	Henry, Dad nor Kris helped him to his feet. In fact, neither one of them
even acknowledged the ordeal. The three stared straight ahead, and the image
portrayed was that their 100% focus was toward their obedience to John, not
their fallen family member. Ray stood up without a moment of hesitation.

	Without looking at me, John tilted his head. "Go behind each slave and
remove the gag from its mouth."

	I nodded and walked behind each one. The knots were snug, so each gag
took twenty seconds to untie. As I stood behind my dad, I thought about saying
something to him, but decided not to. What was there to say? Instead, I did as
I was told and removed the ring gag from his mouth. Each gag was drenched in
sweat and drool, and when John pointed to the box, I was more than willing to
drop them in.

	"Two," John said as I walked back to his side. I assumed he was going to
be punished more for his movement infraction, so goosebumps scattered
throughout my body like wildfire.

	"Master Sir?" Ray replied.

	"The emergency team should be here any moment. Drag your unconscious
brother into the den and wait for them to arrive. One of the EMTs will be a
woman, but the other is a Gentleman. He has been instructed to minimize the
number of questions asked, but for show, I want you to be there. You are not
to speak. Do you understand all of the instructions given to you?"

	"Sir, yes Sir. Thank you, Sir," Ray replied. Evidently, we were all
brothers, but of course, I was the only one who found this knowledge
interesting.

	John approached the line of slaves. He approached Ray and waved for me
to join him. "Remove his hood," he instructed.

	I moved in front of Ray, and the awkwardness of the situation returned.
The sense of belittlement was excruciating, but it was me who felt it on Ray's
behalf. His dignity was long gone. Ray might have been in his fifties, but
with the build he currently had, he could pick up any woman he wanted.
Instead, he was a drone.

	When I took off the hood, I noticed his head had been shaved bald. There
was no hair at all. I couldn't even tell where his hair line began and where
it ended. I went to touch it, but then realized I was the only one moving in
the room and became immediately self-conscious.

	Acknowledging my curiosity, John laughed. "Kneel, back cuff, Two."

	"Sir, yes Sir. Thank you, Sir," Ray replied. Without acknowledging my
presence, Ray gracefully dropped to both knees. He placed his hands behind his
back. His legs were spread, so his penis dangled in front of him. I couldn't
help but conclude that other than his eyebrows and eyelashes, there was no
hair anywhere on his body. Hesitantly, I placed my hand on his head. Not even
fuzz.

	"Enough," John stated after about thirty seconds of awe. "Take your
brother to the den as instructed. You may grab a jock and a pair of the track
pants underneath the stairs. Go."

	"Sir, yes Sir. Thank you, Sir," Ray said, jumping to his feet. He walked
past John and I and went to the back of the kitchen where Brandon hadn't moved
from. With no visible emotion, he dragged his muscular son through the kitchen
doors, leaving me in the kitchen with his brother, my brother, my dad and
John.

	"Today's choice could have been one of three of you," John said. "But in
an effort to make this game more exciting, we've decided to keep the game with
three Fuller niggers and three Carpenter niggers. Three, you will take the
first pill tonight."

	By default, I knew it was Henry that had lost. Although no one made any
significant shift, Henry started to breathe harder. I couldn't see his face,
but the way his body was moving made me think he was crying. John walked
toward Henry and put his hand on Henry's shoulder. If he wasn't crying before,
the hand pushed him over the edge. I could hear him now, and I turned away
from the slaves to look outside. I couldn't take it.

	"Monica..."

	The Henry Carpenter I knew before today would not have made a good
slave. At 35, he was loud and outspoken. Although he had grown up in Larson,
he had spent years in Omaha with a Blank Panther-like organization. Oddly
enough, four years ago, he married a white woman in Omaha, and a year later,
his daughter Monica was born.

	Unfortunately, the marriage didn't last much longer than a year, and
although Henry had been abusive in past relationships, because his wife didn't
have a job, he was awarded full custody of his daughter.

	The birth of his daughter had changed Henry for the better. He moved
back to Larson, and since Ray was always working, he became good friends with
his nephew, Earl, who was only eight years his junior. Earl's long-term
girlfriend, Brittany, would watch Monica, and Henry and Earl would party in
Omaha.

	But at the end of the day, no matter what happened in a given evening,
Henry would make sure he and Monica were reunited. Henry would travel state to
state to make sure Monica enjoyed every weekend. He'd take her to petting
zoos, fairs and ice shows without complaint.

	Thus, it went without saying that Henry losing this game wasn't going to
be easy for him. So when he said the name of his daughter, the reality of the
situation came flooding back to me. I walked further away from John so that he
didn't see me tear up myself.

	Henry was still crying. He still had the hood on, so I couldn't see his
face, but his sobs were loud. Dad and Kris were still composed, looking
forward, but who knew what was going through their heads? They were spared,
but at the expense of our friend. Our brother. And Monica would pay the price.

	I thought Henry would fight more than he did, but with Monica's safety
on the line, he never did. I couldn't see John's face, but he gave Henry the
necessary time to grieve. The room was silent other than Henry, but eventually
even those died out.

	"Tim Spaulding is a Gentleman and a good friend of mine," John said,
"and he and his wife have been trying to have a child for years now. Effective
tomorrow, she will become the adopted daughter they've always wanted. Monica
will be in good hands."

	Tim was an electrician and, like most of the men in town, had played
football. In fact, Tim was a year younger and played on the same team with
Henry. I hadn't met him, so I could only hope that Monica would be safe.

	It was time for the somber mood to come to an end. To do so, John gave a
short shock to Henry. Henry grabbed his collar in pain, but he knew it was
meant to get him refocused. Henry stood straight up, and the line of three
slaves went back to how it was before.

	John walked behind the three slaves and grabbed two of the chairs from
the table. He placed them in the same place we stood, and he pointed to the
chair he placed behind me to have me sit down. He walked over to the box where
the cuffs and gags were and grabbed two of the gags out of the box. He reached
in a cupboard above the sink and grabbed two leashes. Finally, he sat beside
me, as if he were the king and I, his queen, and placed the leashes and gags
on the floor in front of me.

	"Apes," he said as his sat down. "The ceremony will begin in an hour.
Three Gentlemen should be here any minute to take you to the auditorium. One
and Four, you will be positioned in the front row, and Three, you will receive
special instructions from the Executive Board. Are these instructions clear?"

	"Sir, yes Sir. Thank you, Sir," they all shouted with varying degrees of
intensity. Dad and Kris were enthusiastic and sincere about receiving their
instructions. Henry, understandably, was not.

	As I sat and watched the charade, the uneasy feeling that I was being
treated a little differently came back to me. I didn't want to be in the same
position my family was in, but sitting "above" them wasn't satisfying, either.
And the biggest unnerving fact was that I had no idea why. Was it because it
was my first day? Was I going to be trained later?

	About five minutes passed, and no one said anything. Eventually, a white
utility van pulled up in the back yard. Curious, I got out of my seat to see
what was going to happen. I looked back at John to see if I had unspoken
permission to do so, and he nodded his head to indicate I was free to move
closer to the window.

	The van was extremely clean. It was as if it just came off of the lot.
Other than a decal that read LGC, there was nothing on it. No dirt. No dust.
No mud. It wasn't flashy, but my guess was that it was one of my slave
brothers' responsibilities was to keep it clean.

	The front two doors opened, and two white men walked toward the house.
One was smoking a cigarette, but he pitched it into a bush. A third man came
out of the back of the van, and the first thing I noticed about him was that
he wasn't wearing a shirt. He was jacked and his head was completely shaved.
He was considerably younger, clean shaven and very handsome. He walked a few
feet behind the other men, but as he made his way into the patio, I instantly
realized who it was.

	"Lincoln!?"

	When I was in kindergarten, my classmates and I each wrote a letter to
the North Pole. Our teacher photocopied each of our letters, sent one home to
our parents and one to a fifth grader to respond back to us as Santa Claus.
Lincoln was my "Santa", and he later told me that he had originally chosen me
so he could ruin the Santa myth for me. Fortunately, his teacher ripped up his
letter and made him write a different one, but to spite me, he told me a week
later that Santa Claus wasn't real.

	His goal to ruin Christmas for me stemmed from the fact that he and my
brother were best friends. Much like my relationship with Brandon, Kris and
Lincoln were born around the same time and had been friends since they came
home. My friendship with Lincoln improved, and he later taught me how to swim
and how to shave. His friendship with Kris intensified over time to the point
where Kris set up his twin sister, Charlene, with Lincoln.

	My dad was a bit reluctant to let Charlene date Lincoln, hoping Charlene
would date and eventually move to Omaha and marry a black man. But Lincoln had
been over our house so many times that forbidding Charlene to date Lincoln
would have seemed like a crime. And since Kris was dating Lincoln's younger
sister, Emily, the progression of their relationship only made sense.

	Although Lincoln loved my sister as much as my brother loved Lincoln's
sister, the relationship between Lincoln and Kris always seemed like it was
primary and their love lives were secondary. So naturally, Emily and Charlene
became good friends, too. My mother always said it was based on the fact that
their boyfriends were too busy going on adventures that she adopted a second
daughter. Emily, who was raised by a single father, instantly became close
with my mother. So throughout their high school years, Emily and Charlene had
many slumber parties at my house with the neighborhood girls. Amusingly, Kris
and Lincoln weren't allowed to stay.

	At first, to see Lincoln as a Gentleman was nauseating, but I knew him.
Lincoln would die for Kris, and vice versa, so the fact that he was my
brother's handler meant that he participating to protect Kris, not exploit the
situation.

	Protecting Kris wouldn't have been problematic, either. Much like
everyone else in the house, his body had grown exponentially. His shoulders
and his biceps were much bigger than Brandon's, and I could have sworn he had
an 8-pack set of abs. I also noticed that his head, much like Ray's, was
completely shaved. A sign of solidarity, no doubt, he was certainly a catch
for anyone.

	"Hey, squirt!" Lincoln shouted. He rushed toward me, and we hugged. It
was the first time since the debacle began that I truly had a warm feeling
inside of me.

	I couldn't let him go. As I held him against me, I realized I was
scared. Maybe that's why he didn't let go, either. He knew this moment was
coming long before I did, and he knew I'd be going at it alone. Brandon was in
the hospital, the men of my family were of no help and the women of my family
were ignorant to what was going on. Even though he probably couldn't do
anything at the moment, I had to trust that Lincoln would help as much as he
could.

	"Are you okay?" he asked quietly into my ear. I nodded. I wasn't okay,
per se, but I wasn't in any immediate danger. I let go, and the other two men
who had come with him shook my hand. I decided to be just as firm in my
handshake as they were, presenting a fa‡ade of confidence and courage. Both
took notice, stared me up and down and turned to the matter at hand.

	"Henry, Henry, Henry."

	One of the two men who had come out of the front of the van walked in
front of Henry. He shook his head in mocked disdain and patted Henry's cheek.
His hand made his way down from his cheek and down to the crevices of his abs.
After working him over, he walked behind Henry and slid his hand underneath
the hood. He pulled it off and threw it behind him. Henry was staring
straight, looking forward. His dried tears had left streaks on his face, and
it looked like he was ready to fill those dry rivers with fresh tears.

	"So Henry, the great tailback of Larson football, is the first one to
lose the Pavlovian Games," the man said as he appeared back in front of Henry.
"You weren't much of a challenge at all."

	Henry didn't speak, but he looked the man directly in the face. The man
looked away from Henry and shook his head again.

	"I guess belittling you is of no consequence at this point," the man
said. "Within the hour, you will be my slave, and within a day, Monica will be
my daughter. Do you understand me, nigger?"

	"Sir, yes Sir. Thank you, Sir," Henry replied. There was no strength or
confidence in his voice. He said it simply to say it. There he stood, naked,
vulnerable and ruined. His only motivation to remain subservient was the
wellbeing of his daughter. Within an hour, his life would be over as he knew
it, and the inflection in his tone reflected it.

	Tim was his handler, I deduced. He was at a loss of words, too. It was
as if he wanted to say something more, but there wasn't anything else to say.
Anyone could tell he didn't dislike Tim, and nothing else could be done to
humiliate or degrade Henry at this point; words would have simply delayed the
inevitable. As the silence became unbearable, Tim reached for Henry's arm and,
with his other hand, gently guided Henry's head down so that Henry stared at
the ground. There was no mutual respect any more. There was simply defeat.

	"Take Two's truck back to Three's house," John instructed. "The keys are
beside the television."

	"Gotcha," Tim said. Tim looked back at Henry. "Do you have any last
words to your brothers, Henry? Speak freely."

	His words were sincere. Much like I had earlier, Lincoln looked away as
he found the emotional aspect of the situation unbearable. John and the second
man remained firm, and I looked at my feet, hoping the scene would end soon.
There was nothing pretty about what was happening.

	Henry, who was starting to tear up again, walked between my dad and my
brother. He took his arms and put them around the necks of the two of them,
pulling them into either side his neck and creating a huddle. My dad placed
his hand on Henry's head, and Kris placed his hand on Henry's ass. Henry
swatted it away, eliciting a brief chuckle from both of them.

	"Kevin, I want you in here, too," he said quietly. I looked at Lincoln
and then at John, who quickly nodded to give me permission to join the slaves
in front of me. I got out of my seat and created the fourth wall of a box of
naked men. It was the first time I was amongst my family, but Lincoln, John,
Tim and the fourth Gentlemen could hear everything anyone said.

	"Boys," Henry said, "I honestly tried as hard as I could. My life ends
today. We know that was the agreement, and I'm trying to accept that. But man,
it's hard. I lost. I fuckin' lost, and now I pay the price."

	The two hooded slaves stood silently, and Henry kept his eyes down at
the ground. His whisper was so quiet that, even while standing inches away
from him, I had trouble hearing him. As I leaned in, I felt Kris' hand creep
up against my hand. I acknowledged his presence by squeezing his hand and
holding it while I listened to what seemed to amount to Henry's last words.

	"I trust Tim enough to keep Monica safe. I'm not afraid, boys. Just tell
my brother and my nephews that I loved them and wish them the best."

	Although they couldn't see one another, my dad and my brother nodded in
unison. I wasn't sure if they weren't allowed to speak, but I didn't say
anything, either. Henry patted them on their heads and released the headlock
he had on both of them.

	"Follow me, Henry," Tim ordered. He grabbed Henry's arm again and walked
out of the kitchen.

	"Alright, Link, Adam," John said with a booming voice. "Load up One and
Four and let's get this show on the road. Gag'em and leash'em."

	"Right, boss," Adam said with a sarcastic tone. Annoyed, John pushed
Adam forward, and he almost lost his balance. He grabbed a leash and a gag and
approached my dad. "You heard the man, Negro One, let's get the show on the
road or whatever."

	"Sir, yes Sir. Thank you, Sir," my dad replied, smiling. I didn't know
Adam, but the way he interacted with my dad, I assumed their relationship was
at least similar to the relationship Tim and Henry had with one another. Adam
took off the hood. Like the others before him, he had a shaved head and was
clean shaven, which was the first I had seen of him like this in years. His
head was like Mr. Clean, which made me want to laugh. Without any flare, Adam
gagged and leashed my dad and took him back through the door he had come in.

	Lincoln walked up toward Kris and waved for me to join him. John had
pulled out a cell phone, so he wasn't paying attention to anything we were
doing. Lincoln pulled off Kris' hood and reached down to pick up the remaining
leash off the ground.

	"How are you doing, airhead?" I asked Kris. He didn't respond.

	"He's fine with all things considered," Lincoln answered. Kris lowered
his eyes, somewhat embarrassed by the fact that he wasn't allowed to answer me
directly. There was no humor in Lincoln's voice, and the lighthearted
atmosphere he had created when he arrived was gone.

	"You can't talk to me?" I asked. Again, he didn't respond.

	Lincoln sighed. "He really shouldn't, kiddo," he said as he fastened the
leash around his neck.

	"Why not?" I asked. The opportunity to catch up with my brother seemed
to be fleeting, and I was growing impatient. "Can't you order him to answer my
questions?"

	"A while ago I could," Lincoln said. "The LGC is explicit that my
relationship with Kris is to remain that of a master and a slave on the
weekends. We got lax about it a while ago and they took him away from me and
gave him to someone else temporarily. He was kept in isolation for a couple of
weeks. Fucked with his head. We know better not to abuse those rules any
more."

	"Fuck," I muttered.

	"He's still my dude, you know this," Lincoln said as he reached for the
gag. "I'd do anything this for this motherfucker, whether he's my best friend
or my slave. But for his sake, and mine, and yours really, we gotta keep this
shit formal. It is what it is."

	I rolled my neck and thought about running out the door. This was silly.
Lincoln placed the metal gag in his mouth and gestured for me to tie it around
the back of his head. The thought of getting "free licks" in on Kris by
slapping him on the back of his now bald head crossed my mind, but Lincoln's
words rang in my head. At least we'd be able to catch up on Monday.

	As Lincoln led Kris away, John snapped his fingers to grab my attention.

	"Come on, Seven, we have an errand to run."

	John walked out through the kitchen door before Lincoln was out of his
door. Lincoln saw that John was already on his way out and dropped Kris' leash
to rush over to me. Whatever he had to say, it was urgent and something that
John couldn't hear.

	"Kiddo, you cannot repeat this."

	I froze.

	"Swear it, Kev. If you care about anything, you can't tell anyone I told
you this." Goosebumps raced up my arm. Kris stood with his back to us in front
of the door, motionless.

	"What is it?"

	Lincoln looked passed me to make sure that John was nowhere to be found.
Then, he looked me square in the eye. "You're the Chosen One, dude. This game
is about you."

	There were few times in my life that I was speechless, and this was
another one of them. What was I supposed to do with that information? Even
more basic, what did that even mean?

	"Do the other slaves know?" I asked, knowing that time was of the
essence.

	"Only Kris," he rushed. "Go on. I'll try to explain it later."

	"Seven!" John said. His voice made it seem like he was coming to get me,
so Lincoln gave me a pat on my head and rushed back to the patio door. He took
the leash and led Kris out of the house.

	I ran back to the kitchen door and almost collided with a returning
John. He looked at me curiously, as if he was a bit suspicious. Luckily, his
phone rang and he led me to the front door.

	As I hopped into his car and sat in the front seat, Lincoln's words
stayed with me. Now it made sense why I wasn't naked and shaved like the rest
of them. It made sense why I was seated beside John instead of in front of
him. It made sense why I was riding in the front seat of a car, clothed,
rather than stuffed into the back of a utility van like the rest of them. What
didn't make sense was why I had been chosen out of everyone else.

	We drove through Larson, but I couldn't figure out anything to say to
him. I was exhausted. Even though only a few hours had passed, I felt like I
could have slept for days. John drove without the music playing, and I
slouched down in my seat.

	"A lot going on, huh?" John asked.

	I looked at him, and he had a huge grin on his face. I had seen that
smile way too often today. He hadn't smiled like that to anyone else during
this whole ordeal, and now that I knew that I was somehow unique, the smiles
made me uncomfortable.

	I gulped and slid down further into my seat. I didn't want to jeopardize
Lincoln, Kris or anyone else by asking why I was unique, but the feeling was
starting to eat away at me.

	"So when does my training begin?" I asked.

	John laughed, which annoyed me. "Are you that anxious to become
property? Didn't you see how miserable Brandon's uncle was when he realized
he'd become property later this evening?"

	"Yeah, it fucking sucked, but evidently the best way to avoid that fate
seems to be as compliant as possible."

	I don't know what it was that I said, but my words struck a chord with
my driver. He was stunned. After about five seconds, he shook his head as if
he was trying to shake a bad dream and smiled again.

	"You're pretty bright, Kevin," he replied, emotionless.

	"Why do you switch between my name and my number?" I asked.

	"Why do you care?" he snapped without looking over at me.

	I wanted to know what was going on, but his attitude quickly changed to
one of annoyance. It sounded like I might have bitten off more than I could
chew. I was curious about my status, but it became clear that I needed to
accept it for now and leave it at that.

	"I'm sorry," I said. Oddly, I was pretty genuine. The Pavlovian Games
worked because they played off of emotions to our loved ones. If there was
nothing at stake, this game wouldn't have worked. So I didn't want John to
think I was trying to take advantage of his seemingly good heartedness.
Whether I was the Chosen One or not, I knew I had to show respect to the
administrators of the game. Even as a unique player, I wasn't exempt.

	"None needed," John said. His demeanor relaxed. "Things will become
clearer to you after tonight."

	Although he said tonight, he meant within a few minutes.

	It reminded me of Tribal Council in an episode of Survivor. Henry lost,
and tonight's ceremony was going to be symbolic. What kind of magic did these
pills contain? When Henry gave his last words, no one gave him any comfort.
Aside from Kris' ass grab to lighten the mood, nothing could be said to help
alleviate his sorrow. In all fairness, according to Lincoln, none of us are
allowed to speak unless given permission. But even if we were, what could we
have said to him? Not only were there no comforting words to say, none of us
really knew how these pills worked. We were all in the dark.

	"How's Helen?" I asked.

	"Great, really," John said. "She's taken up philately."

	"Stamp collecting?"

	For the second time during the car ride, John was in a state of shock.
This time, however, he slammed on the breaks. He was lost in his own thoughts.
I desperately wanted to know what those thoughts were. He laughed, quietly but
erratically, like a mad scientist.

	"That's why you're..."

	Those three words weren't meant to be said aloud, but they were. He
didn't even realize he said them, but alas, he had.

	"That's why I'm what?" I pried.

	Like before, he jarred himself back to reality and realized he had
stopped in the middle of the street. But since it was early Saturday evening
and most of the men of the town were already settled in our future
destination, no one noticed that we seemed paralyzed in the middle of Larson's
main road.

	"I'm sorry," he said. "I meant to say that's what I thought, too. But
evidently, philately is the study of stamps, not the collection. You can study
them without collecting them."

	I knew he was lying. Had he finished his sentence and acknowledged that
my intelligence was the fact that I was the unique player in this game, things
would have gone awry. I wasn't sure if he could be punished or not, but this
secret that I had wouldn't have been a secret any longer. His slipup, however,
gave me some insight to my reality. There was some sort of expectation of me.
I didn't know the details, but it was apparent that I was going to have to
make some sort of game-changing decision. Or decisions.

	My knowledge of stamps provided a sincere moment of truth from the head
honcho of the game, and instantly, I had an epiphany. If I was truly more
intelligent than most of the LGC and my family, I had to exploit them to the
best of my ability.

	My only reservation was that if the LGC thought I was as smart as I was,
why would they put me in this position? Didn't they think I could bring them
all down, or at the very least, find a loophole? I knew I had to be careful,
but for the time being, I had to simply abide by the few rules I knew of. And
they all came down to "white" respect.

	While these thoughts danced in my head, we came to a stop. But it wasn't
our final destination. It was the local diner.

	"Hungry?" John asked.

	I was extremely hungry. It was funny how during the drive back from
school, Brandon and I were borderline famished. During the revelation, my
hunger had evaporated. Now, in front of my favorite place to eat in the whole
world, I was starving.

	John and I walked in the diner and seated ourselves. Amanda, the middle-
aged waitress who had waited on me for years, came to our booth and placed a
menu in front of the both of us.

	"Haven't seen you in quite some time, Kevin," she said. Her words
dripped with sincerity. The fact that the LGC was able to keep this huge
secret away from Larson's womenfolk was amazing to me. She had no idea of
where we were heading, and John interacted with her as if there was nothing
halfway suspicious going on. It was just another beautiful Saturday evening.

	"You think he's looking better these days, Mrs. Monroe?" John asked. He
grabbed the waitress' hand and kissed it politely. I cracked a smile. For a
sinister racist, he was as kind as they came.

	"Definitely," she said as she pulled a tablet out to take our order.
"I'd imagine you and Brandon would have gotten beer bellies by all of that
college living. You're a fine young man, though. Good head on your shoulders,
just like the rest of your family. Glad to see you don't have veins sticking
out of your neck like the rest of Larson."

	"Yet," John said. He and Amanda laughed. I looked at her, and I started
laughing, too. But it wasn't John's comment that made me laugh; it was her
naivete.

	"It's great what you boys are doing to Larson," Amanda said. "It's
beautiful to see all of you working together."

	I chuckled to myself as more information about my situation became
apparent, albeit accidental. The women's ignorance was well-designed. The men
of Larson were working together to remodel the town, as far as the women were
concerned. The charade was a good one, and even if it were by the sweat of
slaves' brows, at least some good was coming of it.

	"What do you want, Kevin?"

	"A turkey and cheese sandwich with a water would be fine," I said,
handing the menu back to her.

	Amanda wrote on her tablet. "The usual?"

	"The usual," I said. I loved growing up in a small town. The fact that I
didn't have to tell her how much how I hated crust or the fact that I wanted
half mustard and half mayonnaise made me feel like I was at home, even if home
was a little bit different.

	"And for you, Mr. Cartwright?"

	"The usual, Mrs. Monroe," John said, handing his menu to her. She jotted
his order down and smiled.

	"Be right up, boys. Behave now."

	As Amanda walked to the back, John pulled out his cell phone. He sent a
text message, but no more than thirty seconds later, his phone rang.

	"What's up?...forty-five minutes?...we're at Lucy's. Yep...are all of
the boys there?...Fair enough. We should be there in about twenty minutes."

	He slipped the phone into his pocket and focused his attention on me. I
grabbed a napkin and started playing with it.

	"Y'know, you're one lucky monkey."

	"Lucky? I'm lucky?"

	The banter was supposed to be light-hearted, but I wanted to see if
there was any more information I could get out of him before tonight's fiasco.

	"Well, yeah," he said. "Right now, your best friend is locked away for
the evening in some hospital room. His dad will sit in a cage for the next 8
hours for his son's transgressions, and his brother is locked in a real jail.
And your brother and your dad are on leashes, naked and gagged, waiting for
the show to begin as their fellow Larson residents...men who used to admire
and respect them...take their seats while looking down at them in disdain. And
poor Henry loses everything today. Wouldn't you say that you're one lucky
monkey?"

	It was a trick question. I was luckier than the other black men of town,
yes, but to anyone else's standards, I was anything but. Amanda brought out a
small side salad and I uncharacteristically poured salt on it. I was
frustrated with my situation, but I didn't want to get outplayed by John
Cartwright.

	"How is my new nephew?"

	"I hear he's doing well," John said as he poured his salad dressing on
his salad. "Emily sent Lincoln a text and said the baby is doing great."

	"Will I get to see him today?" I asked.

	"No," he said. "Emily took a picture of the baby with her cell phone.
You might be able to see it later."

	"Has Kris seen him?"

	"Not yet."

	"Why not?"

	"Certain privileges have to be earned."

	I wasn't amused by the fact that he was keeping Kris away from his son,
but I was going to make it a goal to show John and everyone else how depraved
this game was.

	"Four is a good slave," he said. "He'll be good competition for you."

	"I'm sorry?"

	John finished chewing his food before he spoke. "Well, there can only be
one winner. Both you and Kris cannot emerge victorious."

	He was right. The game could only end with one winner. And with one
winner, there'd be six losers. This wasn't the first time this truth had
crossed my mind, and I realized I had done a good job trying to force it out.

	"There's no rule that we can't extend this game out as long as
possible," I said, finishing up my salad.

	"You're right," he replied, "but we've got ways to make sure that's not
the case."

	"Yeah? How?"

	He laughed. "Now I can't reveal all of the secrets today, can I?"

	The conversation ended as Amanda brought out our sandwiches. As we ate in
silence, the fact that I couldn't win with Brandon or Kris...or my dad or Earl
or Mr. Carpenter, for that matter...negated my hunger. Of the six other
players, I knew Henry the least and had the least of an emotional connection
with him. What would I do when someone closer to me lost?

	"Anything else I can get you boys?" Amanda asked as we got up to go. She
put the bills in front of the two of us, but John grabbed them both.

	"No, Mrs. Monroe," John said, leaving a $20 on the table. The meal
combined hadn't cost more than eight. Generous to a fault, he kissed Amanda on
her cheek, and I gave her a hug.

	As I looked back at the empty diner, I knew things had changed. This
wasn't the Larson I had left behind. Instead, I was playing a game that would
impact the rest of my life. And if I didn't win, I wouldn't have much of a
life. Dad, Kris, Henry, Ray and Earl might have given up, but I couldn't. Too
many people depended on me to get them out of this predicament. I was already
in the process of losing Henry, but I promised myself right then and there I
wasn't going to let anyone else be turned into a slave.

	Over my dead body.

	"You sure, boys? No dessert?" Amanda said as the bell above the front
door rang, indicating we were out of the diner.

	"None for me, Mrs. Monroe," John said with a smile. "Anything for you,
Kevin? A banana split, maybe?"